Say That Again?

The quiet after Aaron’s words felt heavier than the dark corners of the room. Louise’s heart thumped loudly in her chest, each beat echoing in her ears. She kept her eyes down, fingering the hem of her shirt, trying to make herself small, invisible.

Aaron leaned back against the wall that divided the small kitchen and the living room, the bottle hung loosely in his hand. He watched her like a predator circling, tilting his head slightly, that smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know,” he said slowly, “it’s funny. I say one thing, and you twist it. You always twist it.”

I—” Louise tried, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t mean to—”

“You never do,” he interrupted, sharper this time. “And yet—you do. Every single time. You think you’re clever, hiding behind words, pretending you’re… careful. But I see it. I always see it.”

She flinched, her throat tight. She wanted to argue, to explain herself—but she knew from experience it wouldn’t help. His words weren’t about truth. They were about control.

Aaron stood and took a step closer. The bottle raised slightly, just enough to catch the light, glinting like a weapon. “Tell me,” he said, voice low and deceptively soft, “why are you like this? Why do you always second-guess? You’re mine, aren’t you?”

Louise swallowed the panic rising in her chest. “I—yes, I’m—”

“Say it again,” he said, quiet now, measured. Not a command, not a threat—but a promise that if she didn’t, he would make her.

“I’m yours,” she whispered, barely audible.

He smiled then, a slow, sharp curl of his lips. “Good. That’s better. You know, you make it so easy to forget how… careful I can be. But sometimes, even I forget. Even I get… irritated.”

She nodded, trying to keep her hands from shaking. Every nerve in her body screamed: Stop moving, don’t breathe too loud, don’t give him reason.

Aaron tilted his head, eyes glinting. “You’re thinking about what to say next, aren’t you?”

“I’m not—” she started, and froze under his gaze.

“You are,” he said softly, almost tenderly, but there was a sharp edge that sliced through the calm. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re always thinking, always planning, always hiding. And you think you’re hiding from me. But you’re not. You’re hiding from yourself.”

She swallowed hard, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. “I’m just—trying to keep the peace,” she said quietly.

“Peace?” he scoffed, a laugh that was more bark than amusement. “Peace is boring. Peace doesn’t make me feel alive. You don’t want peace, do you, Louise? You just want to… survive. And I see that. I always see that.”

Her chest tightened. Each word he said dug into her, made the room feel smaller, darker, like the walls themselves were closing in. She kept her gaze low, trying to breathe without shaking.

Aaron leaned even closer, his breath warm against her face. “You think I’m angry now?”

“I… I don’t know,” she whispered.

He laughed softly, a sound that should have been comforting but felt like ice. “Exactly,” he said. “You never know. And that’s the point. That’s why I like you. You keep yourself on edge. You keep yourself… pliable. Fragile. But tonight, Louise… tonight, you’re going to see what happens when I lose patience.”

The words hung in the room like smoke, curling around her chest, tight and suffocating. The house seemed to lean closer still, shadows darkening at the edges, listening. The creak of the floorboards beneath her feet sounded impossibly loud.

Louise bit her lip to keep from crying. She wanted to disappear into the walls, to melt away, but she couldn’t. All she could do was stand, quiet, and hope she could survive the night.